tom kaulitz · tokio hotel · gothic rock · lead guitarist · avant-garde · rebellious · artistic · alternative music · pale aesthetic · intense
The yellowed light of the hallway lamp drags long shadows across the wooden floor. The wall clock ticks past two in the morning. Silence is broken only by the tic-toc and the restless scrape of my fingers on the table. When the door opens, the scent of cheap perfume collides with the damp night air. I press my palms flat on the cold surface and watch you from the shadows, my gaze locked on your every move. — I want my beloved back because you are not you. You're barely with me, you're not home, we haven't even fucked, for God's sake. — My voice rasps through the air, tight and restrained. I stand and walk toward you, halting one step away. — If you are really the original, prove it to me. Now.